


Origin Story

by Nexas_Hart



Series: Nexas Hart's Marvel One-Shots [21]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: BAMF Happy Hogan, Happy Hogan is a Good Bro, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:15:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27902098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nexas_Hart/pseuds/Nexas_Hart
Summary: Every hero has their start.
Relationships: Happy Hogan & Tony Stark
Series: Nexas Hart's Marvel One-Shots [21]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1897207
Comments: 2
Kudos: 28





	Origin Story

**Author's Note:**

> Enjoy this short piece about an amazing, but sometimes underappreciated, member of the MCU.

He’s walking back from school, bag slung over his back. Frowning as he does. He’s bored, and annoyed. He’s got to go back and take care of the shop with his dad until closing. I mean, he could just wander around the city, if he wanted to, but there’s no point in that. It’d just be a waste of time, and his parents appreciate the help, even if they say he doesn’t need to do it.

He passes by the electronics store that’s on his way home. He likes looking over at the televisions while he’s walking. Just a quick glance, to see what the old man who owns the place has on. Today, though, something on the screen causes him to stop in his tracks. It’s a boxing match.

There’s usually a match on while he’s walking home. He’s looked over at them, and they’re pretty interesting, but he would get bored of them quick. It’s just two guys, circling around each other, in a square that’s called a ring. They just keep charging in and backing off. Getting a few hits in during the times they get close. The people who stand there watching say that’s the style of play for the people in those matches, but that’s not very exciting. They’re beating each other up. Where’s the intensity? The determination to win no matter the cost?

Apparently, it’s all been saved for this one match. One of the boxers just keeps charging forward. He dodges by the smallest of margins. Even when he takes a hit, he still keeps moving in, dishing out as many punches as he can. When his hits finally make it through his opponent’s guard, he wails down on the other guy until the only thing holding them up is the ropes at the edge of the ring. Then, he just lets his opponent drop. As the guy is declared the winner a closeup shows on his face. Swelling eye, fat lip, and face bruised to all hell. Still, he’s standing, pride showing in his straight back and single open eye.

You can’t hear the announcer through the glass of the store, but the teen listens in on the rest of the audience.

“That Murdock is something else,” one of the older men whistles.

“Reckless,” another man snorts. “Could ‘a gone either way.”

“But it’s effective,” a third argues back. “Been seeing that sort of head on style more often lately, and Murdock is the best at it.”

“And you gotta admit,” the first laughs a bit. “Gets the old heart pumpin’, don’ it?”

***

Stacking the final box in the back, the young boy walks out of the storage room.

“Dad,” he calls to the man counting today’s earnings at the register. “Boxes are organized.”

“Hold up there, sport,” his dad calls before he can walk out. “Sit down for a moment. I wanna talk for a bit. Father to son.”

Sitting down on one of the chairs that his dad pulled out, the son looks at his father, confused.

“What’s up?” He asks.

“I think I should be asking you that question,” his dad chuckles. “I know you well enough to know when somethings on your mind. So, Harry, wanna talk about it?”  
The teen purses his lips, nervous. He doesn’t know how his dad would react to what he was thinking. Still, that feeling he got, when he saw that match. He wants to try. He wants to feel that excitement.

Harrold Hogan looks his dad in the face.

“Dad, I want to be a boxer.”

***

He’s leaning back against his corner, eye swelling up and half of his face almost numb and cramping, stuck in place and making it difficult to talk. Hogan wishes the rest of it was numb, too, just so that he wouldn’t be able to feel the pain it’s in. Still, he stares straight ahead, doing his best to focus on his coach as he talks to him.

“It’s been a great match,” the man in front of him stares straight in his eyes. “If we throw in the towel now, nobody would blame you.”

Harrold Hogan shoots the man his best glare. The message is clear, even without words.

“Alright,” he sighs. “But you hit the ground once, and we’re forfeiting. Don’t throw your career away for a single match.” Then, he chuckles. “You know, it’s hard to tell if you’re glaring. Ya got one eye shut, and your face looks like you’re smilin’.”

At the start of the next round, Hogan goes in hard. No breaks, no backing down. He doesn’t have a lot of gas left; he knows that. So, he’s going to use every bit of it.  
It might’ve been luck, or maybe a lapse in judgement by his opponent. Could’ve been that he was going in for a blow with that hand, or he was a lot more exhausted than Hogan had dared to hope. Either way, a right hook got by the other man’s guard, slamming into his jaw with all of the power Harrold could put behind it. His opponent goes down, hitting the mat with an audible smack.

There are noises all around. Cheers from the audience, others begging for the downed boxer to stand. Still, when the KO was announced, and Hogan’s hand was raised in victory, the roar of the crowd washes over Harrold Hogan.

He basically collapses into the shoulder of his coach as he’s almost carried on the way to the locker rooms. There are cheers all around, something he’s never gotten tired of. However, as he gets closer to the tunnel, something more rhythmic. Chanting. As more people take up the chant, it becomes clearer.

“Happy! HAPPY! HAPPY! HAPPY!”

***

Happy’s walking back from the gym, feeling a bit depressed. His coach says it’s just a slump, but Hogan knows his body. He’s started teaching the younger generations, but he knows his own career is slowly going downhill. Honestly, win or lose, he’s planning on hanging up his gloves after the next fight.

He’s at a crosswalk, only a block away from his apartment, when something happens.

The boxer is about to cross, when a car speeds past, running the red light. As it does so, it T-bones the other car that’s crossing. All of the other vehicles stop in time, and Happy basically reacts on instinct, running out to the accident to help. He manages to get the driver’s door of the T-boned car open.

“Hey, buddy,” he starts taking off the driver’s seatbelt. “You alright.”

The driver groans before coming to. “Yeah, I’m fine.” Then, his eyes widen. “Wait! What about the passenger?! Is he okay?”

“Haven’t checked yet,” Happy tells him. “You feel injured anywhere?” The guy shakes his head slightly. “Get yourself to the sidewalk, and I’ll get the guy.”

The driver looks like he wants to protest, but Happy has long since mastered the imposing no nonsense look. Works just as good on the guy as it does on the younger members of the gym. There are a few other people who have come to help out, so Happy hands the guy off to a couple of them, while he gets to the backseat.

When he manages to get the door open, he pauses as he sees the man. Guy’s bleary eyed and a bit out of it, which worries the boxer. He knows how bad a head injury could be. As Hogan goes to help him out of his seat, he gets the strong whiff of alcohol. Okay, less worried, but he still could be injured pretty bad.

As Happy lays the guy on the side walk, he finally gets a good look at the mans face in the fading sunlight.

“Shit. You’re Tony Stark.”

“Yeah,” the man groans, coming to. “And I’m probably going to fire my driver.”

A twinge of annoyance goes through Happy. “It’s not like it was the guy’s fault. The other idiot sped through a red light. He was worried about you, when I got him out of there.”

The famous billionaire comes more into focus. “Yeah, well, he probably won’t last anyways. They never do.”

“Not the best boss, are ya?” Hogan guesses.

Stark snorts. “Ya know, not many people would talk back to me like that. What’s your name?”

“Harrold Hogan, and I’m not most people.”

“Well, Harrold. You looking for work? Because you look like you can take a hit, and I could use a bodyguard.”

**Author's Note:**

> I've already put a couple of my own personal headcanons into a couple of the other fics I've posted, but I felt the urge to make this one-shot about the boxer.
> 
> Hope you liked it.
> 
> If you have anything else you might want, let me know.
> 
> Comment and Kudos. Don't be mean.


End file.
